


One More Chance XIII

by DancingHare



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 18:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingHare/pseuds/DancingHare
Summary: Vajarra teaches her unusual student in the ways of the Light.





	One More Chance XIII

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published July 21, 2008

Vajarra wasn’t quite sure what to think of her new student. She didn’t dare bring him up into the temple, at least not just yet. The anchorites and attendants were justifiably nervous whenever a blood elf stepped into the sacred space. More importantly, Vajarra did not want to have to explain why he was in her company. She felt a blush of shame at this, knowing it was wrong and unfair, but it was the truth. Instead, she told the dark-haired elf to meet her at the pond out in front of the city gates.

He was punctual, she could say that much about him. She was surprised to see him already waiting on the hewn stone bench when she walked up the tunnel from Lower City. Vajarra smoothed her gown and sat beside him, the tips of her hooves nearly touching the surface of the pond. It was a lovely place to sit and read, the small pond dotted with red-orange flowers that grew atop broad flat leaves on the water’s surface. So long as nothing wandered out of the forest, anyway, but there was a guard within shouting distance. The nearby road saw little use, but from time to time guards rode past on their way, often enough to be reassuring. Again Vajarra felt ashamed for being so suspicious of the elf, simply because of his race. He was trying to better himself, to make amends for his wrongs, and here she was being mistrustful of sitting alone with him.

She smiled politely at him, in hopes of relieving her own guilt, and opened up the book she had brought along. “I’m not quite sure where to begin,” she said, tracing along the text with a finger. “It’s an awfully broad subject, you could study for centuries and not fully understand it, I certainly–” Vajarra blinked, feeling his bright green gaze on her.

The blood elf was leaning back on the bench, his arm draped over the end. If he felt anxious about their arrangement, it didn’t show. “Let’s begin with your name, priestess,” he said, reaching out to flip the book closed with a soft thump.

Vajarra felt her ears darken. “O-oh, I’m so sorry, my manners,” she murmured, avoiding his strange green eyes. “My name is Vajarra.”

He seemed pleased. Maybe he liked it, sometimes males said things like that. Vajarra thought that was silly, it wasn’t as if she chose her name. He smiled that strange crooked smile again. “Vajarra, then. Sounds a bit nicer than ‘priestess’, doesn’t it? I’m Istahn Dawnstrike,” he said, offering his slender hand. She looked at it warily, as if it might bite her, but finally took it. After all, she didn’t want to be rude.

She picked up the book again, leafing through to find her lost place. Her ears still felt hot, and she was sure that he was still watching her. Vajarra was glad of the opportunity to bring someone to the naaru, especially someone who had been so lost. She just wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it. The basics would be a good place to begin, she reasoned, settling her hands neatly into her lap as she told him about the naaru. Vajarra named all of the naaru she could remember, from mighty A’dal to valiant X’iri, gentle O’ros and even poor M’uru, who had sacrificed himself so selflessly for the blood elves.

Here, to Vajarra’s stunned surprise, the elf began to sob, his hands covering his face. None of them had been so distraught about the poor naaru’s fate when they had been feeding off him, she thought bitterly. But that’s why he was here, wasn’t it, to make amends, and to leave all of that behind. Vajarra could not judge him for that, there was not a person alive who had never made a mistake. She cocked her head, watching him uncertainly, and laid a hand gently on his shoulder. He was so small and slight, smaller even than a human. She’d never been very close to one, even here in the city they tended to keep their distance, and they were a fairly rare sight upon the Aldor terrace. His slender ears looked like moth antennae and she had to bite her lip from giggling at the comparison. The elf’s hair was very black and very long, and some of it was tied back to keep it out of his face.

Finally he seemed to regain his composure, and he sat with his knees pulled up to his chin, curled into himself. Vajarra looked away uncomfortably, feeling that she was intruding somehow. “Maybe we should continue another time,” she said quietly, picking up her book and standing up from the bench.

He shook his head insistently. “No no, I’m all right,” he said, offering a meager smile. It was true that his eyes seemed to have dried. “I just feel overwhelmed, sometimes, by what we have done. What I have done.”

“There is no sin so great that it cannot be redeemed,” Vajarra explained, sitting down again beside him. “If you truly seek redemption though, only they can offer it. Not I.”

Istahn looked at her closely, but this time she could not escape from his intense green gaze. “Do you forgive me?”

Vajarra opened her mouth to speak, and hesitated. Did she? Their people’s crimes stretched from Draenor to Azeroth; there was not a single draenei whose life had not been affected in some way. Yet Velen, the great prophet, and A’dal had accepted them, and the citizens of Shattrath in turn. If she could not trust them, who could she trust?

“I do,” she answered at last, and maybe he would be the way, the bridge that could help her cross that gap of fear and mistrust. How strange to think that one day she might count one as a friend! He was polite, certainly, and he didn’t try to grab her tail or stare at her horns like the people in Stormwind did. In fact he’d been a perfect gentleman thus far, and he listened intently while she talked about the naaru. If only all of the anchorites had such focus — for that matter, if only Vassanta had.

Vajarra told him about her family; about Vassanta and her mother and father, even her uncle who had enlisted in the Stormwind army. She didn’t know why, surely he didn’t care about the little details of her life, but it was a good way to fill the silence, and he looked interested, at least. To her great relief, he didn’t ask whether she had a husband; she wasn’t certain how she would have answered if he had.

He said that he had to go, he had someone to meet. Vajarra nodded, and she gave him the little leather-bound book to borrow, so that he might read it. Of course that meant that they would have to meet again. She was surprised when he took her hand and kissed it gently, feeling her ears darken once more. With a bow, he excused himself and walked hurriedly up the path into Lower City, glancing around. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen talking to a draenei, she mused.


End file.
